


Scarred

by Theyumenoinu



Series: Roses and Thorns [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Background Bones/Uhura, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Spock (Star Trek), Hurt Jim, M/M, OMS challenge, Old Married Spirk Challenge, Pining, Protective Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Protective Nyota Uhura, Regret, Revelations, Sarek's A+ Parenting, Self-Harm (sort of), mentions of Spock Prime - Freeform, old married spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27874093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theyumenoinu/pseuds/Theyumenoinu
Summary: "Jim," he sends through the thin, fragile link. Unknowing if it’s received but hoping. "Please, forgive me."
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: Roses and Thorns [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553188
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90
Collections: Old Married Spirk





	Scarred

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or its characters. 
> 
> A/N: So, the first part was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. I appreciated everyone who read it and commented! Your feelings and thoughts were absolutely valid! I did feel one POV left a lot to be insinuated and even filled in with various interpretations. I had contemplated for a while about writing a second part from Spock's POV and decided it needed to be. This will be emotional, as well. But the ending will be bittersweet and not so much as devastating as the last one (though, I mean, still sad). I felt there was a story to tell when I wrote the first part last year. I don't know why it was an angst story, but it felt needed for some reason. Please enjoy! And thank you again for all your kudos, comments, and bookmarks!

* * *

**Scarred**

* * *

Spock is instantly aware of him—as he’s always keenly been since his youth. A shadow over his life, restraining him to the boundaries placed upon him at birth. Even now, he still feels the shackles tightening each day.

“Admiral Kirk has returned to captaincy,” his father speaks after a lingering silence, matter-of-fact and devoid of much anything else.

Spock doesn’t turn around, allowing his surprise and relief to briefly play upon his face. The only witness being the setting sun in the distance. “Indeed?”

“Yes.” Sarek steps up beside him. “I have received word of a forthcoming peace agreement, involving Romulus and a future courtship with New Vulcan.”

He straightens rigidly at his father’s proximity. “I do not recall forming such an agreement.”

“Because there has not been one formed, as of yet,” Sarek reassures. “However, I cannot deny the logic to seek a mate from those who share a common ancestry. Our numbers are thinning.”

Spock glances upward to admire the golden hue in the sky. “Yes.”

Sarek turns in his peripherals to study him intently. “You have fulfilled duties beyond necessity. Our society and economy thrive, despite the population.”

The rare and unexpected praise is strange to hear, forcing Spock to shuffle uncomfortably between feet.

“It is what he would have done,” Spock returns in a similar flat tone, “had he lived.”

“Perhaps,” Sarek agrees. “He often voiced his desire to make amends for his grievous errors.”

“Is there a purpose for this conversation, Father?” Spock asks, not wishing to dwell on the subject matter.

Sarek releases a breath akin to a sigh.

“Fault may have been misplaced,” Sarek admits, and the confession draws Spock’s full attention. Finding a hint of an expression upon Sarek’s face, one of which Spock witnessed another time subsequent to his mother’s death. “However illogical,” he presses on, “you inherited more than his personal items, but his debt.”

Spock’s brow lifts. “I was seen as his equal, and for this, I was commanded to lead in the aid of the settlement or face permanent exile?”

“Yes.” Sarek lowers his gaze fractionally. “It is a personal error with consequences I had not foreseen.”

A fire long since dormant flares to life, crawling along his skin in a prickly sensation. A desire to lash out as he had in his youth overwhelming him momentarily before he replies through gritted teeth, “I see.”

“When I said I loved your mother,” Sarek hurries to explain. “I did not expect my answer to influence your path. Your intentions to remain in Starfleet was not favorable once your elder counterpart passed. I could not allow it, in such precarious circumstances, and therefore took the logical course of action.”

_“Forgive me, ashayam. It is imperative of me to replace my counterpart now that he is gone.”_

_“It’s not goodbye—_ officially _—right?”_

Spock begins coldly, his voice wavering at the revelation. “I had believed myself to blame for Mother’s death, and for the demise of our home.” A hand clenches into a tight fist. “You and the elders had me convinced I owed this debt when it never, evidently, belonged to me. And furthermore, I had to produce an heir, as well as sacrifice my responsibilities to Starfleet.”

_To Jim._

Folding his hands together and bowing his head, Sarek hesitates to confirm. “Yes.”

Whirling around, Spock storms away with little care for the emotions he clearly displays. Only pausing when Sarek calls after him.

“You ultimately made your decision.” Spock flinches, unable to refute the truth. “You could have chosen exile.”

“ _Kaiidth_ ,” Spock mantras solemnly, retreating into his domicile.

~*~

“You are certain?”

Spock tilts his head downward. “I am.”

Jim’s voice, surfacing from the depths of his memory: _“Don’t do this, unless you mean it.”_

The elder’s brow quirks, clearly skeptical. “What has changed?”

_“You have to mean it!”_

Spock swallows, attempting to dislodge the apparent blockage in his throat. “It will offer me an emotional release from the wrongdoings I have committed.” He clenches his eyes shut, allowing himself to fully appreciate Jim’s pain. “I would not seek such freedom.”

A silence descends, weighted with shame.

“Your Human blood is far superior, it seems,” she states, and Spock doesn’t deem to correct her. “You will give me your thoughts.”

Spock doesn’t fight against the fingers as they settle at his psi-points. Suppressing a need to expel her as she breaches his conscious, seeking to find meaning to his failure. Brushing briefly against the link at the back of his mind, causing him to recoil from the soreness the touch elicits. And perceives her comprehension as she pulls swiftly from the meld.

“You will not achieve _Kolinahr_ ,” she states. “I am in agreement with your withdrawal.”

He says nothing, wordlessly accepting the judgment.

“Live long and prosper, Spock.”

~*~

He stares absently at the pile of PADDs upon his desk. A tangible reminder, mocking him by their very presence.

They clatter loudly onto the floor as he shoves them away, violently. A release of endorphins overcomes him as he grips his chair, flinging it uncaringly at the wall. There’s hardly a scratch when it falls to the floor. Its perfect condition only serving to enrage him further as he marches hastily towards it.

Spock lifts it, only to slam it down with his full strength. The joint of a metal leg bending slightly and causing a thrill to rush up Spock’s spine. He repeats the action once more, and again until the chair distorts into an unusable shape.

Satisfaction floods him for a mere second before he remembers himself. He stumbles away from the destruction until the opposite wall halts him, staring at the mangled metal with a tinge of awe and horror. A cramping sensation in his stomach sending bile rushing into his throat.

Once before, he used this rage with the intention to harm Jim.

Another time, he used it to avenge Jim.

And now…

Spock clenches his eyes shut.

Now, he admits to himself, he’s using it to mourn Jim. To mourn the pain his _t’hy’la_ endured and the tattered remains of the bond they share.

 _He_ has done this.

Averting his attention away from the mess, Spock eyes the _comm_ with mounting sorrow.

_“Can we keep the line open?” Jim asks, tentatively, causing Spock to pause in his work. His bond-mate’s fear trickling through their connection._

_He turns fully to face him. “Jim?”_

_“It’s nothing. Really.” Ducking his head, Jim scratches at the back of his nape. “I just don’t want to fall asleep alone tonight.”_

_Spock’s side clenches at Jim’s distress. “Of course,_ ashayam. _” Then wonders, almost as an afterthought, “Have you been experiencing nightmares, again?”_

_“It’s nothing,” Jim repeats with impressive conviction, but Spock is hardly fooled. “I just want you here with me. That’s all.”_

Suddenly, Jim’s sheepish face is replaced with one scarcely holding onto pretense. Left on a recording for Spock to watch on repeat until he couldn’t bear it. 

_“I miss you.”_

Sharp pain steals over him as his fist smashes through the screen. Shards biting into his flesh when he slowly removes it, deliberately forcing himself to feel every second of agony.

The office door unexpectedly slides open, permitting Sarek to enter unannounced. His father poised to speak, but freezes as he digests the sight before him. Spock anxiously awaiting his father’s stern disapproval, but is surprised when Sarek refrains from giving any comment. Instead, turning to the communicator on the wall to request medical assistance.

“Father?” Spock wonders, finding himself lacking an explanation.

“The peace meeting between Romulus and New Vulcan will take place aboard the _USS Enterprise-A_ in 126.3 hours,” Sarek informs, seemingly choosing to disregard the scene. “Starfleet is to act as a mediator.”

“Indeed?” he replies, partially breathless. “Then, I will leave—”

“That is not wise,” Sarek cuts in sharply. “You are emotionally compromised, and therefore incapable—”

“I have been tasked with equal, if not more in far worse conditions and performed my duties efficiently,” Spock returns, icily. “I will leave on the next available transport.”

Sarek’s eyes widen as Spock rolls his shoulders, bracing for the expected retort.

“I see this was inevitable.” His father releases a soft exhale. “Your mother would be…happy, I believe.” Sarek lifts his hand, forming the _ta’al_. “Live long and prosper.”

Spock stares after him, somewhat dazed, as Sarek pivots and exits the office without further argument.

~*~

“Permission to come aboard.”

The man smiles broadly, and Spock wonders as to what he finds amusing. “Permission granted, _Ambassador_ Spock,” Mr. Scott replies with emphasis, offering him a sloppy _ta’al_ , of which Spock immediately returns.

“Thank you.” He steps through the hatch to find the corridor remarkably empty. Not quite the protocol for the arrival of an ambassador, but a most telling sign of his unwelcome.

“Would you like me to show you to your quarters, sir?”

“No,” Spock declines. “I would, however, wish to visit the bridge, if that is permissible.”

The man’s bright demeanor changes instantly. Shuffling his feet slightly, he says, “Oh, aye. You’re allowed.”

Spock turns, starting his trek toward the lift.

“Uh, sir,” Scotty calls after him, rushing to catch up. “It’s none of my business, sir, but you might want to reconsider heading to the bridge. There’s a wee bit of discontent with your presence here.”

The news is hardly unprecedented, but Spock silently accepts the warning and continues on with a slightly accelerated heart rate. Disregarding the man’s withering sigh as he departs down another corridor in direction of the engineering section.

He doesn’t attempt the bridge yet, stopping the lift on the observation deck to calm his fraying nerves. But halts at the entrance as a memory wedges between the cracks of his shields.

_“Jim?” Spock approaches the slumped form of his friend, who immediately begins to wipe frantically at his own face. “You are troubled.”_

_“Nah,” Jim attempts to dismiss, his voice cracking. “I’m all right.”_

_Spock doesn’t deem to argue, aware of Jim’s tendency towards deflection. Instead, he seats himself beside him and offering Jim space to speak, if he so desires._

_“Five years over, Spock,” Jim starts after a pregnant pause, gazing wistfully at the stars passing by. “Everyone will be reassigned for a while or taking an extended vacation. We won’t have any new missions for at least two years.”_

_“What will you do in the interim?” he wonders, noting the way Jim stiffens._

_“They offered me a teaching position,” Jim informs, and Spock makes to congratulate him when Jim finishes, “but I turned it down.”_

_Somewhat stunned, Spock blurts out, “Why would you do that?”_

_Jim sighs. “I’m too restless. Staying in place like that for too long…” He shakes his head. “I’ll go stir-crazy.”_

_“I see.” Spock’s side clenches at the thought of Jim’s absence. “What will you do, then?”_

_“That’s the thing,” Jim starts, morose. “I don’t know.”_

_Spock fails to find the words to comfort him, knowing well how Jim judges his own value solely on his captaincy._

_“What about you?” Jim prompts, saving Spock the trouble of a response._

_The question is a weighted one, as Spock recalls his most recent transmission with his father and the elder council. Discussing the arrangements to live on New Vulcan and take over the duties of his late counterpart._

_Perhaps, Spock thinks, he could delay his arrival by a few years. Watch over his t’hy’la until the Enterprise is ready to commence space exploration._

_It will also open an opportunity to reveal the bond he discovered and more._

_“I desire to travel.”_

_This piques Jim’s attention, instantly. A spark of adventure alighting his eyes. “Really? You?”_

_“Yes.” The corner of his lips twitch upwards at Jim’s teasing. “Although, I would prefer my journey to not be one done in solitary.”_

_Jim grins and Spock becomes keenly aware, at this moment, how he will never be able to deny Jim anything._

_“Why, Mr. Spock. Are you asking me to join you?”_

Spock jolts into the present when a loud clang breaches the quiet. Discovering he’s wandered inside, his hand gripping the backrest of the sofa. The personal PADD someone’s left behind now lying on the floor from where he accidentally knocked it off the seat.

 _Jim,_ he sends through the thin, fragile link. Unknowing if it’s received but hoping. _Please, forgive me._

~*~

He senses Jim as the lift slows.

_Jim’s stationery is antique and beautiful, as is Jim asleep on the bed. Spock cannot fathom losing him, but he must. He must for the sake of his species. He owes them his loyalty in such a time of crisis. Jim must understand. He must._

Spock takes a steadying breath as the inner doors release.

 _It was me who did not understand,_ he thinks. _I have wronged you greatly, my Jim._

“Permission to enter the bridge,” he asks, somewhat gently as several pairs of eyes sharply focus their attention on him, then glancing uncertainly towards the captain’s chair.

Jim doesn’t turn in his chair. “Granted.”

He glances around in curiosity. Some of the crew are new and fairly young, while other familiar faces remained out of loyalty to their captain. Nyota, being one of them. Glowering from her station, lips pressed thin, and the fire he’s been acquainted with on numerous occasions burning brightly in her eyes.

Tilting his head in acknowledgment, he greets, “Commander Uhura.”

“Ambassador,” she returns, tautly, then gifts him the view of her backside.

The sensation of rejection elicits memories of his childhood, but he quickly pushes them aside. His previous actions warrant such disdain, Spock reminds himself. If he is to be crucified for the pain inflicted upon his _t’hy’la_ , then that is his consequence _._

Approaching the center, Spock stops shy of the chair, leaving enough of a gap to satisfy boundaries. And absorbs the sight of Romulus rotating on the viewscreen before daring a glance at Jim’s profile.

Jim is healthier than a year prior. The darkness beneath his eyes have faded and color’s returned to his cheeks. His stomach is rounder also—clearly better fed. 

“Is there anything I can help you with, Ambassador?” Jim questions, tone entirely professional. His own eyes riveted on the planet before them.

Spock is caught off-guard, not entirely expecting Jim to speak to him. “There are some matters in which I would like to discuss when you are off-duty, Ji—Admiral.”

“Are these matters connected with current affairs?” Jim asks, oddly monotone.

Spock swallows thickly, not wishing to trick Jim into any conversation. “They are not. However—”

“Then, it’s only logical we place our energy into the current mission at hand rather than waste it on other more frivolous matters.” Jim finishes, coolly, “Is there anything else I may assist you with?”

Spock drops his gaze. “No. Thank you for your time, Admiral.”

He retreats defeated to the lift, catching Nyota hastily follow him inside before the doors hiss closed. Pinning him with a glare before reaching over to bring the lift to a halt. 

“Why are you here?” she demands. Her ire more than expected.

“I’m fulfilling my duties as Ambassador of New Vul—”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She crosses her arms. “Your father or Ambassador T’lei could’ve easily taken on the role of peaceful negotiator.”

He flinches slightly, realizing he’s unfairly insulted her intelligence. “I wished to speak with him,” he concedes, bowing his head.

A sigh filters through the space between them. “You hurt him badly, Spock.”

Spock doesn’t deny it.

“Leonard and I were the ones to help pick up the pieces,” she elaborates. “And don’t think for a minute Jim was the only one in pain when you pushed everyone away.”

“I do not deserve forgiveness.” Clasping his trembling hands at his backside, he explains, “I merely intend to apologize. There are no excuses for what I have done.”

She deflates a fraction. “That I can agree with to some degree.” He tenses as she steps closer. “I don’t believe you did this with any evil intentions. That isn’t you.”

He glances up at her, disbelieving. “How do you know this?”

“Because you didn’t have that intention with me when you did the same before the events at Yorktown.” She huffs softly. “I know you feel responsible for Vulcan. And you’re right, none of it is an excuse for hurting him, but…” she trails off. “You felt you were doing the right thing.”

Words escape him as she carries on.

“I didn’t want to forgive you when you broke my heart, but I did the moment you made an effort for me at Jim’s party.” She places a friendly hand against his arm. “You aren’t so terrible that you’re beyond forgiveness, Spock. We all make mistakes.”

He remains silent, confused as to how to respond as she moves away to restart the lift.

“It doesn’t mean we all can’t be angry with you, though.”

~*~

“So, it’s true.”

Spock freezes in his tracks.

The man’s scowl deepens, undeniably displeased.

“You have some nerve coming here,” the doctor starts, lifting a finger to accentuate his outrage. “You stay away from Jim. You hear me?”

“Doctor—”

“And you also stay the hell away from me, for that matter,” the doctor curtails him. “If I see your face again, aside from the mission, I’ll make you wish I never received my M.D.”

The doctor marches past him in direction of the lift, likely seeking Jim to grouse about their encounter.

Perhaps, Spock thinks after knowing the man for some years, he should heed the doctor’s threat.

~*~

“Ambassador Volla,” Jim greets cordially. “I’m Captain James T. Kirk of the _USS_ _Enterprise_ , and this is Ambassador Spock of New Vulcan.”

She inclines her head, sizing them up. “I know who you are,” she says, edging on venomous. “I do not understand how Starfleet intends to mediate when the person they send is a notorious slayer of our kind.”

Jim blanches, and Spock immediately calculates the success of the peace agreement decreasing in percentage.

Volla continues, “As well as send forth a male Vulcan to discuss reproduction. Unless he is one of the males able to bear kin, this is not his place.”

Clearing his throat, Jim recovers quickly. “I hear your concerns. Would it be acceptable to delay this meeting while I make arrangements for another representative?”

Spock remains impressed by Jim’s professionalism, despite the surge of emotion bleeding through the bond. A jumbled mess of anger, guilt, desperation, a sense of failure, and fear.

Spock edges closer to Jim on instinct when her eyes sharpen in anger.

“And why should I trust your judgment?”

Jim shrinks minutely. “I understand.” With a fortifying breath, Jim tries once more, “Would your own vetting process suffice? I have a few commanders aboard that may be more suited for mediation.”

She eyes him critically. “I suppose so.”

Jim’s relief pierces through the haze.

“I will interview each one you send, then make my final decision in three of your standard days.” Volla studies Spock as intently as his father. “I will also accept him in these talks if he will listen more than he speaks.”

Bowing slightly, Jim graciously accepts her terms. “Thank you, Ambassador Volla.”

“Do not thank me, Admiral Kirk,” she sneers. “If not for the biased protection of the Federation, I would see you in prison for your crimes against our people.”

A spike of guilt and fear hits Spock hard enough to rob him momentarily of breath. Although, Jim hardly expresses it. Remaining bowed as Volla and her security detail depart the meeting room.

As their security detail file out of the room, Jim slams a fist against a chair. Cursing emphatically at his personal failure.

“You are not at fault, Captain.”

Jim grips the chair, his knuckles whitening from the strain. “I ordered the kill on Nero and his crew, Spock.” He huffs a mirthless laugh. “I could’ve kept them alive—arrested them. I acted on vengeance and consequently might have doomed the Vulcan race,” he continues. “She’s right. I should be imprisoned.”

He can’t disagree—however. “Then, I as well should be.” The skin between Jim’s brows pinches in confusion as he turns towards Spock. “If memory serves me, I agreed. Therefore, I share half the responsibility.”

Jim’s expression smooths unexpectedly. Stoic and guarded. It unsettles him immensely.

“Yeah, you do,” Jim concurs flatly. “More than just half, I’d say. You are my— _were_ my first officer. I needed someone to act as my conscious—to be the logical and reasonable part—and you failed me.”

The words strike their target without mercy, leaving Spock reeling from the pain they elicit.

Yet, Jim presses on. “You could’ve easily pointed out my emotionally compromised state. Told me I was being illogical— _stopped_ me.”

“I—”

“Instead of having me believe in it. Letting me commit fully. You could’ve put an end to it long before and saved us all the heartache!” Jim shouts. “Not to mention, coming back to act as my first officer as if nothing ever happened. As if we weren’t completely wrong for any kind of working relationship.”

Shaking his head, Jim concludes, “You lead me to believe it was all right when it never had been.”

The knowledge finally dawns that Jim is no longer speaking of Nero. “Jim,” Spock tentatively begins, but Jim is quick to curtail him.

“That’s _Admiral_ to you, Ambassador.”

Spock nods in silent apology for the slip in formality.

“Why even come back?” Jim demands when Spock opens his mouth to respond. “Why bond with me? Why--?” he chokes back a sob as he abruptly cuts off. Emotion flooding their bond unrelentingly, and Spock permits it all to drown him without mercy.

“I don’t have time for this,” Jim decides with a wave of his hand, turning his back on Spock. “We only have a short window to brief commanders. I’ll call on you when the council’s made their decision.”

“Admiral,” Spock starts, not desiring to leave him in such a state.

“You’re dismissed, Ambassador.”

He longs to step forward and wrap his arms around his _t’hy’la_. To ease him from the pain he’s caused. But Spock has lost that right, and so, he goes.

~*~

_“It is crucial I remain until this matter is settled,” he says, firmly. The illness sweeping across the colony weighing heavily on his shoulders. Knowing he must strike a bargain with a neighboring native tribe for the medicinal herbs to aid the sick._

_Jim scrubs a weary hand over his face. Longing saturating the link, sinking deep into Spock’s essence. “And how long is that going to be?”_

_Spock hopes the significance is conveyed in his response. “Undetermined.”_

_“Dammit.” Gripping his grey, thinning hair and drooping his head, Jim concedes. “Okay.” And with a huff, desperately seeks compromise, “What if I come out there to you?”_

_An urge to agree rises. The thought of his_ t’hy’la _near him tempting and desirable. To feel Jim’s touch after such arduous work is always welcome and appreciated. Yet, he knows his bond-mate will feel the sting of neglect as Spock works for days at a time. And more than likely, Jim will push his own bodily limits to the point of self-neglect in order to aid the colony, as well._

_“That would not be agreeable,” he says, remorsefully shifting his gaze from Jim toward the box of his counterpart’s belongings on the bookcase._

_“And why’s that?”_

_The sharp tone and implication of distrust leaves Spock affronted. How can Jim not understand the circumstances? he thinks. How can he question his_ t’hy’la’s _decision?_

_“My undivided attention is required for progress,” he explains. “I cannot afford distractions.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_Jim’s voice is soft, hardly a whisper. The pain of it unbearable, forcing Spock to return his attention to the box. Their counterparts staring back at him in contented peace. He longs for something similar._

_“Certainly there must be important matters you must attend to yourself, Jim.” Spock knows Jim’s hectic schedule may provide some distraction until they’re able to find time to reunite._

_“You sure about that?” Jim snaps. “It so happens I’ve accumulated several weeks of rest and relaxation time, and Starfleet is practically shoving my ass out the door to take it. Besides,” he pauses, “not knowing how much time I have left, there’s nothing I’d deem more important than seeing you.”_

_The reminder of Jim’s shorter lifespan cuts deep like a lirpa into his side. Imagining his_ t’hy’la _cold and lifeless, and the universe subsequently so without the warmth Jim grants it._

_He cannot deny Jim anything._

_But he must be fair._

_“You may travel here if you wish; however, you must understand I will not be made available to you during your stay.”_

_He scoffs. “Not even for an hour for lunch?”_

_“Jim.” Spock suppresses a sigh. “I do not know how to further explain to you—”_

_“That I’d be a nuisance? Yeah, I pretty much got that.” Jim crosses his arms over his chest, a fire burning in the depths of the cool tones of his eyes. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it,” he says with heat. “Just call me when you’re done and wanting to see me.”_

_Spock considers their previous quarrels and logically concludes Jim is requesting space. A sense of unease overcoming him as he raises his hand in the_ ta’al _and wishes Jim farewell. Then, ends the feed soon after to minimize the chance of any further arguments._

Spock surfaces from the memory, reflecting on the several years of silence which followed. Believing Jim understood the necessity of his position and granting him time to complete his duties. But as his workload began to plateau, his father announced his promotion and emphasized the importance of repopulating their species.

_Jim’s voice cracking in the birthday message. “I miss you.”_

He knew, then, he couldn’t continue starving Jim of a life. To keep him waiting in the shadows for the second Spock could rejoin him in the light.

Yet, he couldn’t release Jim without first allowing Jim to fully appreciate the depths of his affections. Wanting Jim to comprehend it’s for the best for them both. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Spock emerges from his meditation to find the surly doctor scowling down at him.

“I desired to speak with you,” Spock returns, gracefully standing from the floor. Habitually smoothing his robes in the process.

“Not a chance,” Leonard moves to the desk, rummaging within the draws for the glass bottle. “Beat it before I risk a malpractice charge.”

“I was wrong,” Spock says quickly, knowing well the doctor doesn’t issue out empty threats.

The doctor makes a noise in agreement, pouring the amber liquid into a crystal tumbler. “Damn right, you were,” he mutters. “Still are.”

“Indeed, Doctor.”

At that, the doctor shoots him a look of suspicion. “What are you playing at Spock?”

“I am not playing a game,” Spock assures. “I am merely in agreement.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing—you never are,” the doctor counters. “What’s going on with you?”

“I am departing for New Vulcan after the meeting today,” Spock informs.

“Uh-huh,” the doctor replies, motioning with his hand for Spock to continue.

“The admiral refuses to speak with me.”

With a barking laugh, the doctor asks, “Is that any wonder? You just don’t get it, do you?” Grasping the neck of the bottle, the doctor pours himself a generous amount of liquor. “The right thing to do is to leave Jim the hell alone after all you’ve done to him.”

“The right thing,” Spock parrots. “I seem to never accomplish such a feat, even when I firmly believed I had.”

With the lip of the glass resting against his mouth, the doctor’s eyes widen. Perhaps, shocked by Spock’s openness. Or, perhaps, alarmed at his confession.

“I have been…ashamed of my mixed heritage, and yet, I felt the need to defend both species that comprised my existence,” Spock expands. “But by doing so, I lost myself and inadvertently harmed many. Including Jim.”

The doctor collapses onto his office chair but doesn’t attempt to interrupt.

“I hurt my mother by denying my human blood and heritage,” Spock admits, albeit quietly. “And I missed a chance to apologize.” Folding his arms behind his back, Spock finishes, “I do not want to miss my chance to do so with…the Admiral.”

With a loud huff, the doctor throws back his drink and wipes the back of his hand across his lips. “I can’t force Jim to talk to you, Spock.”

“Indeed.” Reaching into the depths of his robes, Spock slides from it the box bequeathed to him and proffers it. Inside is the usual contents, plus something of his own. “Please, see he receives this when the damage to his heart has healed.”

The doctor grasps hold of it, turning it in various directions in curiosity. “What’s in it?” he wonders gruffly.

“An apology.”

~*~

“You are leaving New Vulcan.”

Spock isn’t surprised by his father’s perception, but is by the grudging acceptance. “Yes. I will henceforth be ambassador to Starfleet. My duties there have not concluded.”

Sarek comprehends what he alludes. “You have secured the peace agreement.”

“Yes.” Spock turns to collect the remaining personal items, neatly storing them inside his bag. “A mating ceremony will soon commence. The details will be delivered to both councils in 30.2 days.”

“That is satisfactory.”

Spock shuts his bag with a soft click, and only turns to the monitor when he realizes his father has yet to say anything further.

Sarek watches him with an expression mirroring that of when his bond-mate passed. Spock’s side clenches.

“Father?” he prompts.

“Will this be our final conversation?” Sarek inquires, voice softening.

Spock considers him. Recalling his life and the harm done in the name of clans and expectation.

“Negative,” Spock decides and Sarek blinks in akin to relief.

Offering the _ta’al_ , his father bids him farewell and, to Spock’s astonishment, good luck.

** 8 Years Later  
Christmas Eve **

Spock presses the bell to the home, straightening himself to appear presentable when the door slides open within a minute later, revealing the doctor. His once greying hair now white and patchy, wrinkles more defined, but seemingly still as healthy as a decade prior.

“Come in before you freeze my tail off,” the doctor gestures, move to allow Spock through.

“As far as I recall,” Spock starts, “you have never been in possession of one.”

“Good to see you’re the same pain in the ass hobgoblin,” the doctor grumbles, guiding Spock deeper inside to the living area.

A familiar face glances up from her playful wrestling match with a small child. Her smile warming him.

“Hello, Spock.”

He nods in acknowledgment. “Nyota.”

Removing the squirming children from her lap, she rises and crosses the space between them. Her lips finding his cheek before wrapping arms around him. His move to do the same, seemingly of their own volition.

“It’s good to see you,” she says, moving away from their embrace.

“Indeed.” He places his hands immediately behind his back. “I hope you are in good health?”

“I am.” She smiles brightly. “And I have Leonard to thank.”

“At least _someone_ listens to me,” grouses the doctor as he bends to pick up a stumbling toddler. “Unlike certain somebodies I know during a specific five-year mission.”

With the subtle mention of Jim, Spock’s mood dims. Nyota, ever as perceptive, points in the direction he seeks. “He’s in there. But, he’s getting worse, Spock,” she warns. “Be gentle with him, okay?”

~*~

“Spock?” comes Jim’s feeble voice, timid and unsure, from his position on the bed. A pallor to his skin, eyes bloodshot, and his hair absent from illness.

“Yes, Admiral?”

Jim shakes his head feebly. “No. Don’t.”

“I am uncertain what you are asking of me.”

“Don’t pretend.” Jim wheezes. “No more of this. Not now.”

He cannot deny Jim anything.

And at this moment, he cannot deny himself, either.

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” he starts, and pauses at Jim’s sharp intake of breath. A small smile spreading slowly as Jim exhales in evident relief. “Why now?” Spock asks, the words slipping out unbidden.

Jim locks eyes with him, despite his waned state, the blue of his eyes shine as brilliantly as when they first looked upon Spock.

“I was mad,” Jim confesses. “And I…had every right to be.”

Spock drops his head in shame.

“I thought I hated you,” Jim continues. “Really thought I could. I tried.”

He flinches slightly at the pang in his side. The idea of Jim hating him, albeit understandable, isn’t something he prepared himself to hear so bluntly. 

“But…”

Spock perks up slightly.

“I received this box,” Jim says. “Somehow, with our whole life contained inside it. And—” A cough curtails him, robbing his lungs and reddening his face. Spock settles a comforting hand on Jim’s forearm, hoping it will provide some stability.

“Jim,” he starts, but Jim remains, as ever, determined.

“The message you left me,” Jim sputters, fighting to catch his breath. “I always knew, somehow. Deep down. The pressure was always on you to be more than you possibly could.”

“It does not excuse how I treated you,” Spock adds.

“You’re right, it doesn’t.” As Jim removes his arm from beneath Spock’s hand, Spock suppresses the urge to follow it, feeling bereft. But is mildly surprised when Jim places two fingers against his own, instead; jolting their quiet bond into life.

“But,” he continues. “It explains how everything went wrong. How we grew apart with miscommunication and misunderstandings. How we both messed up.” Smiling, Jim amends, “You more so than me, for once.”

Spock doesn’t dare move, mesmerized by the kiss Jim is gifting him. “Jim…”

“I forgive you.”

His vision becomes bleary as tears collect in his eyes. Spock attempts to fight them, but to little avail, as one escapes to track down his cheek. “You should not,” he strives to argue. “I have wronged my _t’hy’la_. I have wronged _you_.”

Jim ceases the kiss, only to curl his fingers around Spock’s hand. “I forgive you,” he repeats, earnestly. “And I’m a stubborn old fool for waiting so long to tell you.”

Clasping Jim’s hand, Spock dares to glance up and finds not the hatred or anger he expects, but the same fondness he once received.

“Will you do me a favor, Spock?” Jim wonders and Spock is all but prepared to collect every star in the universe if Jim asked. “Stay with me tonight.” With a weak cough, he adds, “Please?”

He doesn’t need any more than that, already moving to join Jim in the bed. Gingerly maneuvering him until they’ve settled close together. Gathering Jim into his arms and burying his nose into his bond-mate’s hair. Spock’s body and mind flooding with the relief their close proximity brings. The heaviness of decades of emptiness easing.

“I am sorry,” Spock says, his voice wavering. “I am sorry, Jim. My _t’hy’la_.”

The link opens wide, allowing through memories of the countless nights Spock gazed into the night sky, yearning for his mate. Of the meetings and duties which stole him away, and how he longed for Jim every second. In return, Jim sends much of the same. And together, they mourn the lost time.

“Maybe we’ll get it right in the next life,” Jim softly says as he fades steadily into slumber. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”

Spock concurs it must be truth. Or else, how would they have had this chance in this timeline and others. _There must be more than this one life_ , he reasons. _There must be_.

~*~

Christmas is an affair to remember. Spock remains close to Jim’s side, not permitting another moment to pass without contact, much to the doctor’s feigned disgust.

New Year’s Eve is filled with Jim’s laughter. His eyes twinkling with the genuine happiness Spock missed dearly. Sharing a true kiss at the stroke of midnight, and more into the early morning hours until a disgruntled doctor scolds them both.

Birthdays and holidays are celebrated with renewed excitement. And all through it, their bond grows ever stronger. It rejuvenates Jim beyond measure, causing him to seek adventure in the little things with an “I’m not dead yet, Spock.”

And when the illness eventually steals Jim more than two years later, Spock whispers his love through their dying bond one last time. Placing a fond kiss against Jim’s temple as he passes peacefully in sleep with Spock’s arms secured around him.

 _Until we meet again in the next life_ , t’hy’la.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the song "Someday Out of the Blue" by Elton John


End file.
